Mrs. Hasan always laundered her family's clothes early in the mornings, usually when I was brushing my teeth and getting ready for school. Sometimes, I even swished water in my mouth in tune with her pounding.

Mrs. Jivraj's pounding was timid, as uncertain and mousy as her own self. It was as if she were afraid someone might hear the thumping and complain.

The pounding from Mrs. Sidhu's house was the loudest. She did not care who heard and who complained. It was her wash that filled the air with the powerful scent of the blue bar soap she appeared to use in excess amount.

I...